


Freaks and Soldiers

by fits_in_frames



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-23
Updated: 2007-09-23
Packaged: 2018-01-21 17:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1557644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fits_in_frames/pseuds/fits_in_frames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there was one thing that Dean hated more than high school, it was getting caught with a machete in his bag at high school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freaks and Soldiers

**Author's Note:**

> _let's have a round for these freaks and these soldiers_  
>  _a round for these friends of mine_  
>  _let's have another round for the bright red devil_  
>  _who keeps me in this tourist town_  
>  {joni mitchell // carey}  
> 
> 
> Spoilers for "Something Wicked".

If there was one thing that Dean hated more than high school, it was getting caught with a machete in his bag at high school. Which had already happened, twice--but not here. Still, Dean was known as a trouble-maker around the hallways, even though he'd only been here a few months. People were scared of him because when he walked in on his first day, someone threatened the little eighth-grade brother at his side, so he broke both the guy's wrists, and gave him a black eye. He didn't even get to go to class before he was suspended for a week.

This time it was innocent enough. He'd reached down get a book out of his bag, and discovered the hard way that in his rushed and sleepy stupor, he'd grabbed the wrong bag that morning: he sliced his palm open. It wasn't really a big cut, but there was blood _everywhere_ and he had cursed, very loudly. His (admittedly hot) Social Studies teacher came down the row and almost passed out before telling someone to go get the nurse. It was then that she saw the shiny weapon, spattered with blood (some Dean's, some not), and told someone else to go get the principal.

So he sat in the principal's office while they tried to get a hold of Dad. He knew Dad was on a hunt and wouldn't be home until nightfall at least, but he didn't dare say that to anyone, so he was ready for the phone to ring ten, twelve times. After a few seconds, someone picked up. "Hello, Mr. Winchester?" the principal--a young guy with rimless glasses and thinning hair--said. Dean sat on the edge of his chair. If Dad was back in the cabin that meant something had gone wrong. A pause. "Oh, I'm sorry, is your dad there?" Dean exhaled and scrubbed his clean hand over his face. Sam was so stupid sometimes. He'd forgotten that Sam was "staying home sick" to practice shooting empty bottles in the backyard. His family was so screwed up. He made a motion at the principal that clearly meant, _I want to ask you something_ , but the guy just waved dismissively at him. "Do you know when he'll be back?" Dean let his hand fall down on his thigh. "All right, well you tell him to get down to the high school right away, all right? All right, thank you Sam. Feel better." The principal hung up and folded his hands in front of him. "Seems your father's not in, Dean."

"Oh?" Dean said as if he hadn't known that before the guy had even dialed the number.

"Yes, so you're going to have to stay here until he gets down here."

Dean groaned, held his forehead in his good hand.

"What's wrong, Mr. Winchester? Care to say anything in your defense?"

Truth be told, Dean was ready to spill it all. He was ready to dump all the family secrets on this guy's lap just so he didn't have to sit around in this musty office until Dad killed whatever it was he was hunting, which was God knew when. He was ready to tell the stupid balding principal that yes, he could use a crossbow and a .45 and dammit, even a machete, because his mother--no. No, he clamped his mouth shut and made a fist with the wrong hand. It hurt, but he didn't make a sound.

"I thought so. I'll be in and out."

And that was at nine in the morning.

It was nearly two, and he'd been walking around the room with his arm above his head for hours, just pacing, thinking. He didn't even feel ridiculous anymore. when he saw Dad (and Sam, wrapped in a blanket) standing outside the office, just down the hall. Dad was facing away from the office and talking to the principal, who kept looking over the top of his glasses. Dean found it incredibly annoying. Sam looked over his shoulder and once he spotted Dean, he tugged feebly on Dad's sleeve, clearly asking for permission. Dad turned to the principal who, a second later, reached into his pocket and handed something to Sam. Sam wrapped himself even tighter in the blanket and walked towards the office. He unlocked the door and just stood in front of Dean for a second.

"You look ridiculous, Dean."

Arm still on top of his head, he said, "Yeah, well, at least I don't look like an Eskimo. What the hell, have you never faked being sick before?"

"It was Dad's idea." Sam shrugged and pushed the blanket aside with a flourish, like a cape, so he could reach into his pocket. "I saw you left your lunch in your bag, so I brought it with me."

It was only then that Dean realized he was absolutely starving. He grabbed the sandwich with his good hand and examined it (the bread was soaked through, but the Fluff seemed to have held up okay) before he attacked it. Sam was smiling at him, and between bites, he ruffled Sam's hair, tentatively, with his injured hand. Through a mouthful of peanut butter and marshmallow, he said, "You're a good kid, you know that?"

Sam swatted his hand away, but missed, almost as if on purpose. "I'm not a kid anymore, Dean, I'm fourteen." He sat up on the desk, being careful not to disturb anything that couldn't be replaced. "But can you put that in writing? I want to shove it in your face the next time you get pissed at me." Sam looked up and grinned widely.

Dean made a face just as he heard Dad's voice coming down the hall. Sam hopped off the desk, wrapped himself back in the blanket and sat in one of the chairs. Dean shoved the rest of his sandwich in his mouth and practically swallowed it whole, tossing the plastic bag in the trash as quick as he could.

"I'm sorry about all this, Mr. Geiger," Dad was saying. "Dean is just so careless sometimes."

Dean looked over at Sam, who glanced up at him, then directed his eyes back to the floor.

"It's quite all right, Mr. Winchester, just make sure it doesn't happen again." The principal smiled falsely, and it turned Dean's stomach, though that may have been the sudden sugar rush.

Dad smiled at Sam, and gathered up his sons, putting one hand on each of their shoulders. "C'mon, boys," he said, "let's go home."

Sam sneezed halfway out the door, and the principal said, _bless you!_ Neither Dean nor Dad said anything until they got in the car.

Dad put the key in the ignition, then sat back. "Dean, how the hell could you be that stupid? You know what bags have what in them, they don't all look the same."

Dean shifted in his seat, laid his arm across his chest and muttered, "I made a mistake."

"Yeah, well, the next time you make a mistake, it could be your life or my life or Sam's life at risk, not just your goddamned academic career. You know that, Dean." Dad started the car and immediately turned on the radio. Other than Eric Clapton singing, the car was completely silent until they pulled up to the two-room shack Dad had scouted out a month before. Dad grabbed the bag with the machete in it and went inside before Dean could even get out of the car. Sam discarded the blanket on the backseat and helped Dean out, gingerly putting Dean's arm around his shoulders, then closed both doors.

"For what it's worth," Sam said, barely above a whisper, as they approached the cabin, "I don't think you're stupid."

Dean grunted as he readjusted his arm across Sammy's back, and when he looked over at Sam, the little smile on his face told him Sam understood what he'd said.


End file.
